


The Adventure Of The Slain Cardinal

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [68]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dogs, F/M, League of Temperance, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Newspapers, Poisoning, Politics, Religion, Roma | Rome, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A quiet man beset by bullies posts a note in a newspaper, and nearly causes a major international incident! Sherlock deals out justice to both man and beast.





	The Adventure Of The Slain Cardinal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Me_Being_Difficult](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Me_Being_Difficult/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Death is no laughing matter. Yet this strange little case straddled the line between comedy and tragedy in that the consequences of failure on my brother Sherlock's part might well have been politically explosive, yet he was able to bring justice on the cause of all the trouble and to track down a missing churchman who was not a man and had never been inside a church. Most importantly of all however he did what he always did, and secured justice for all.

Kean is sulking just now because I will not let him go round and beat my brother Mycroft to a pulp because.... er.....

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

It was six years almost since we had last met the young gentleman, but the handsome dark-haired fellow who waited on us that cold winter's day in Baker Street was a familiar and welcome face. Mr. Pietro Falcone, emissary to His Holiness the Pope, whom we had assisted (as much as we could) in the matter of the Vatican Cameos. It was damnably unfair that the passing of six years did not seem to have aged the young fellow one jot, although given his other role with his twin Paolo as 'Castor and Pollux' in Sherlock's brother Sherrinford's employ, that was perhaps understandable.

The case that the young fellow had brought to us was to prove most definitely one of the strangest that Holmes had ever come across, and one where the consequences could have been quite serious, yet one that had both comic and tragic elements. Though the look on Mr. Falcone’s face that April morn was definitely closer to tragedy.

“I am sure that you have achieved great things from sometimes very little”, our visitor said. “It is the strangest of cases that I lay before you today, gentlemen, as it may be one of murder.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow at him.

“You are unsure as to whether someone has been murdered?” he asked.

The reply was a strange one.

“Sir, I am unsure as to whether the victim existed!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“To begin with”, our guest said, a look of distaste on his young features, “I must talk a little politics. As you are doubtless aware the position of the Holy Father at the moment remains a precarious one. Pope Leo is in his eighties now, and if the Good Lord should gather him to his bosom any time soon there might well be serious problems.”

“Popes are elected by a conclave, are they not?” I asked. Our guest nodded.

“That is where the problem lies”, he said. “The cardinals who make the decision are very finely balanced, between what in your country one might term conservatives and liberals. One influential or charismatic cardinal with a few followers could swing things either way and secure the elevation of a pope of their leaning, changing the direction of the Holy Mother Church for some time. It is that which has brought me to your door today.”

He opened his polished brown brief-case and extracted the _“Times”_ , which was folded to a certain page. He handed it to Holmes who read the marked item before passing it to me. The article read as follows:

_‘Regrets for the untimely passing of the late lamented Cardinal Tosca. Be ye blest with an inside track to Heaven, where all such souls rightly go.’_

“Who is this ‘Cardinal Tosca’?” Holmes asked. Our visitor shrugged his slender shoulders.

“We have no idea”, he said. “Unfortunately the upheavals of the past few decades mean that we have lost touch with many of the more distant cardinals, and as the last election was seventeen years ago our records are hopelessly out-of-date. The instability caused by such a tiny article has been appalling. Both sides suspect the other of removing someone from their side, and there may even be a schism. All because of two lines in a foreign newspaper!”

_(It should be noted at this point that the Thunderer of those times was more powerful than it is today, and that it had successfully forced changes on government and businesses on more than one occasion)._

Holmes frowned.

“This is a private article”, he said. “Surely it would be possible to approach the newspaper and ask them for the name of the person who had submitted it? I know that the _“Times”_ protects its own, but if they came to understand the political ramifications then surely even they might make an exception?”

Our visitor blushed.

“With things the way they are”, he said carefully, “I was summonsed back to Rome last week to talk directly with the Holy Father himself. Neither side trusts the other to investigate the case fairly and, sorry to say, there is a rabid distrust of foreign police – but your name, sir, is renowned, and everyone knows that you follow the path of justice. I am instructed to ask if you would be so kind as to investigate this matter for us, to whatever conclusion that you may reach.”

“I would be honoured to take the case”, my friend said with a smile. 

“If you bring your findings to my house when you are done I can send them to Rome securely”, Mr. Falcone said, looking relieved as he depositing a card onto the fireside table. “Though of course we would telegraph the Holy Father first, to assure him that all was well. If indeed all _is_ well.”

He stood and bowed to us, then left. Holmes stared thoughtfully into the fire. 

“This is odd”, I said. “It cannot be murder, surely? One does not murder someone, and then advertise the fact in the _“Times”_ of all places!”

“Unless, of course, the entire plan is to cause instability in the Vatican”, Holmes observed. “Remember, Pope Leo still has to recognize King Umberto as a rightful ruler and that must sting, as it means that many Catholics around the world and indeed in Italy itself will feel compelled to follow his lead. The Italian monarchy might perhaps feel that an unstable Vatican could cause Pope Leo or his successor to ‘come to heel’, so to speak.”

“Damn Eye-ties!” I said fervently.

Holmes smiled.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

That same afternoon we went to the offices of the _“Times”_. The clerk who greeted us was polite enough, but unfortunately the article had been placed anonymously and paid for in cash. It seemed that we were at a dead-end.

Our evening back at Baker Street was interrupted however by the arrival of a young fellow of around twenty-five years of age, who introduced himself as a Mr. Peter Tadworth, a clerk at the very newspaper that we had not long come from. He had overheard our conversation with his superior, and whilst he had of course been unable to say anything at the time, he knew our address from my stories and wished to help.

“I was there when the gentleman put the article in”, he said, “though Ben – Mr. Potter who you spoke to – was the one who took it all down. The man gave his name but then asked that the article be anonymous. My colleague had not written it down so he just wrote 'anon', as we sometimes do. The man was a Mr. Alfred Wright.”

“A common enough name”, I said with a sigh. “There must be dozens of them in London. Hundreds even.”

“Can you describe him at all?” Holmes asked.

“Between forty and fifty, grey hair, medium build”, the young clerk said. “His clothes were dark and rather shabby. He had the purple temperance badge sewn into his cloak; I noticed it as he took it off the coat-stand. And his accent was not from the area, though I could not place it.”

“Thank you for bringing this information to us”, Holmes said, slipping him a coin. The young man’s eyes lit up when he saw it (my friend was always far too generous with people, in my opinion), and he bowed himself out, almost falling over his feet in the process. I strongly suspected that the local taverns were about to become equally if not even more appreciative of my friend's munificence.

“I shall have to call in the good offices of Miss Richards”, he said. “The temperance movements are not much less secretive than the Thunderer, at the end of the day.”

He jotted down a telegram before summoning a boy. It was late, but perhaps by tomorrow or the day after we could be on our way.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It turned out that I had been right about the commonness of the article-writer’s name, and we were fortunate that young Mr. Tadworth had been so observant over the temperance badge (perhaps he had earnt that money after all). The ever efficient Miss Richards had located four temperance society Alfred Wrights for us that were in the right age range and who lived in London. Two were at a society based in the Minories, a third attended one in King’s Cross and a fourth was further out in Walthamstow. Since her message reached us relatively late in the day, we decided to wait until the day after to visit all three.

There was a heavy fog the next day but Holmes was determined to be about our business, and we decided to start with the Alfred Wright in King’s Cross. 

“Fifty-nine, widowed and a bank clerk”, I said dubiously. “He does not exactly seem to have got on in life. I wonder what made him turn to drink?” 

“His file says that his wife died some years back”, Holmes observed. “Possibly that drove him to alcohol. His society friends say that he has been sober for at least a year, now.”

“How can they be sure?” I wondered. 

“No-one can”, Holmes said. “Every man is to a certain extent his own judge in such things. But I dare say that the society has ways and means of detecting those who have ‘fallen off the wagon’.”

Alfred Wright (number one) lived in a small terraced house not far from the Great Northern Railway’s terminus. It was a mean building, but the outside looked well cared-for. It was a day off from the bank, as he only worked three days a week there. He had no idea about the advertisement, nor any clue as to who ‘Cardinal Tosca’ might be. 

We met further dead-ends with the two Alfred Wrights in the Minories; the first had been down with chicken-pox for the past two weeks (a neighbour confirmed this), and the other, although matching the physical description fairly well, had been visiting a relative in Ilford on the day in question. He had kept the ticket for his nephew who collected such things, and was quite happy to show it to us.

“Though he could have been lying”, I said, feeling even as I spoke that I was clutching at straws. 

“To what end?” Holmes asked. “He must know that we could check his story at the station, or even with his relative. No, if our last port of call does not yield anything we are faced with the fact that the man who placed the article used a pseudonym. In short, we would have very little to go on.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The fourth Alfred Wright was not too far out age-wise at around thirty-five, but had striking blond-white hair and was a little over six foot tall. One look at him told me that we would not be lucky here - but as so often I was to be proved wrong. Holmes showed him the advertisement, and we both saw immediately how the man reddened. 

“It is devilishly awkward”, he said. “It’s not my place to tell you, and I’d really appreciate it if you kept my name out of it.”

“Despite the doctor’s writings we can be surprisingly discreet”, Holmes said, avoiding my glare. “If you can supply us with any information to solve this case, we would not reveal to anyone how we came by it.”

“May I ask how you came by my name?” Mr. Wright asked.

“The gentleman who placed this advertisement gave his name over the counter”, Holmes explained, “and a source of ours – whom of course we may not name – passed the information onto us.”

“The man you actually want is a fellow member of my local society”, the man said. “His name is Hieronymous Utterthwaite, so I cannot wonder that he preferred to use mine, even for an anonymous article. In the circumstances I suppose that I must forgive him.”

“Forties, grey hair, shabby clothes and of medium build?” I asked.

“He is fifty-one but yes, that sounds like him”, Mr, Wright said. “And this is the sort of thing that he would do. We work at the same bank in Walthamstow, and he is a decent fellow.”

“Do _you_ know who ‘Cardinal Tosca’ is?” I asked.

He looked a little sad for some reason.

“I think it best if Mr. Utterthwaite tells you the tale himself”, he said. “But I will tell you one thing, gentleman. Cardinal Tosca is – or was – female!”

I stared in astonishment.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Mr. Hieronymous Utterthwaite actually lived in Hackney, so we took the train back as far as Hackney Downs Station before a short cab ride took us to his house, which though modest backed onto open fields. There was no answer when we knocked at the door so we went round the back. A middle aged man was sat reading on a bench, a greyhound resting at his feet looking supremely bored at his master’s inactivity. It looked up as we approached, then very clearly dismissed us as uninteresting and laid its head down again.

“Mr. Hieronymous Utterthwaite?” Holmes asked.

There was a smile in his voice and I looked at him in surprise. He knew something. But what?

“I am, sirs”, the man said politely. “And you are?”

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson”, Holmes said. “We have come about your article in the _“Times”_.”

The man turned a strange shade of red.

“I have heard of your fame, Mr. Holmes, but I hardly think my private matters merit your interest”, he said coldly. “Especially after the ribbing that I have endured at work as of late.”

Holmes did not reply, but looked down at the dog.

“Who is this?” he asked. The man looked at him suspiciously.

“This is Cate”, he said shortly. 

“Yet dogs also have what they call 'race names'”, Holmes said. “Does 'Cate' race at all?”

“She is too young for that”, the man said defensively. “When she is a little older, maybe then.”

“And she is named after her mother, is she not?” Holmes asked. 

I still had no idea what he was driving at, but Mr. Utterthwaite turned even redder.

“You know”, he said sullenly.

“You may care to learn”, Holmes said, “that much as I sympathize with and even condone your actions, your fond farewell to a beloved pet nearly generated an international incident.”

“What?” the man exclaimed, clearly shocked. “How?”

“When the different factions at the papal court in Rome read about the death of one ‘Cardinal Tosca', they were frantic”, Holmes said. “Each assumed that the other had killed off a cardinal from their side, which given the state of Italian politics was perhaps not that unreasonable an assumption. Yet the clues were there, were they not? When you talked about your late dog ‘taking the inside track’, you were referring to a race-track. And the heaven reference was because, per the saying, all dogs go to heaven.”

“Cate is up there now”, the man said confidently. “Heaven would not be Heaven without dogs. Folks think I am mad to value my canine friends above my human ones, but dogs have always treated me better. Especially of late.”

“May I ask how Cate’s mother died?” Holmes asked. The man’s face darkened.

“Murdered!” he spat out.

“Who would kill a dog?” I asked.

“Reg Clooney, that’s who!” the man said angrily.

Holmes gave him a look that said quite clearly ‘explain, please’.

“When I had been with the society for a few months they got me a job at the local bank”, Mr. Utterthwaite explained. “Just afternoons to start with and on trial for a year, but if I stayed clean they said they’d consider me for full-time. Reg wanted his son to join him there, so he thought poisoning poor Cate would knock me off the wagon.”

“Are you sure of this?” Holmes asked. The man nodded.

“My neighbour saw him come to my house one day when I was visiting my sister, and drop some meat in the garden”, he said. “Cate died the next day – poison the vet said - and when I looked for it, someone had come round and took it away. Reg boasted about it to his friends at work when I wasn't there, but Alfie Wright overheard and told me in private.”

“I see”, Holmes said icily. “Which bank do you work at, Mr. Utterthwaite?”

“Dodgson’s in Tottenham High Road”, he said. “Why?”

“Just curious”, Holmes said, looking at his watch. “Thank you for your time, sir. Goodbye, Cardinal Tosca.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“He nearly caused an international incident by saying farewell to a _dog?_ ” I asked, as we walked back to the high road to hail a cab. 

“Man’s best friend”, Holmes reminded me. “Think on it, doctor. We see all types of humanity in our line of work, from the truly good to the purely evil. Yet a dog is only bad if someone deliberately and maliciously trains it so to be. They are the children of our world, and it is unsurprising that some value them so highly.”

To my surprise Holmes directed our cab-driver not to Baker Street but to Mr. Utterthwaite’s bank. Walking in, he asked politely if the manager could spare him a few moments of his time. We were shown quickly into the offices of a smartly-dressed middle-aged blond fellow called Mr. Oliver Smith who was clearly of conflicting emotions; pleased to meet someone famous but nervous lest his bank be dragged into some investigation of ours.

“I would like to begin”, Holmes said firmly, “by assuring you that the highly sensitive and important international investigation that I have just concluded in no way reflects badly on this illustrious institution.”

Mr. Smith’s relief was palpable.

“That is good news, sir”, he said. “May I ask what brings you here today, then?”

Holmes leant forward conspiratorially.

“This investigation concerned a Major European Power”, he said. “Although I said that your bank was not affected by this case, I have to say that the foolish and unwise actions of one of your employees very nearly resulted in your being dragged right into the middle of it!”

I suppressed a smile; the Papacy was hardly a major power. But Mr. Smith still went very pale and ran his finger around his collar.

“The strange part was”, Holmes said, “that the intention of your incompetent and disaster-prone employee was merely spiteful, and that he probably – I hope – did not intend to cause the major repercussions that I have just had to work so hard to prevent. I am sure that when Mr. Reginald Clooney decided to poison the dog of Mr. Hieronymous Utterthwaite, he could not know that such terrible events would unfold as a result. I should also say that luck has played a major part in my investigations and that the danger is now past, although it has been a close-run thing. Had events turned out differently, the whole farrago would have been traced to your bank, and doubtless your own name would have been in all the newspapers.”

“The newspapers?” Mr. Smith said, his eyes wide with shock. 

“Right across Europe”, Holmes said firmly. “And I am sure that I do not have to remind someone as intelligent as yourself that our visit today was purely a courtesy call, and that we discussed absolutely nothing whatsoever of any great import.” He paused, and leant forward. _“Or do I?”_

He stared meaningfully at the bank manager, who looked as if he might need my professional services any minute. The man's lip was actually quivering.

“But.... all is well now?” he managed. His voice had gone very high.

“For now”, Holmes said, “but you may wish to monitor your Mr. Clooney a little more closely in future. He is, as the saying goes, prone to make a full-scale international drama out of a local crisis. The next time he behaves in that way, his employer might not be so fortunate. Remember, you must tell no-one about our visit. Good day, sir.”

He stood up and strode quickly from the room. I hurried after him.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“A 'Major European Power'?” I laughed when we were safely on the train. “Really?”

“I do not like killers of any sort”, Holmes said. “And with a little assistance from the highly able Miss Richards I will guarantee that Mr. Clooney will be found to have blotted his copy-book once more sooner rather than later, with the result that his bank decides that they are better off without him.”

I chuckled again as our suburban train chuffed its way slowly back to Liverpool Street.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
